By Ute Buehler
Minnesota Branch
Your eyes are open but not here.
These eyes which I have seen so full of love and life,
so full of mischief, glee and joy,
Of warmth, compassion, sometimes anger,
And always love.
Where are you, where have you retreated to?
Is there a secret place inside your soul
allowing you to rest, to disregard the pain,
The pain this shell that was your body
now has to bear?
I look into your eyes, now fogged by agony and age.
These eyes have seen a century,
a hundred years of human life,
These eyes now dimmed by drugs to dull the pain.
Where are you?
I touch your hand, and feel
you’re reaching out to me.
A butterfly once landed on my hand,
Your touch not more than this, so light,
almost not there.
You close your eyes, and open them again,
You look at me,
your finger taps my hand,
Oh there you are!
You are still there.
You are here.
The imagery of the butterfly’s touch, so light, so fleeting, is extremely effective here. Your very moving poem captures the impression of a life, strong and beautiful, slipping away – to where? Thank you for sharing it.
This poem is so honest and true It is written from the heart.The action is subtle but so important. Just the touch of the finger and then the eyes with the souls meeting again.. Lovely.
Filled with honesty and sensitivity.
Thank you
What a touching, lovely poem. I am sure many of us can relate to this.
Beautifully written.. Thank you.
Touching. Reminiscent. Thank you.